


Eyes Always Seeking

by waywardriot



Series: Vanven Week 2019 [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, VanVen Week (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: Vanitas’s mask is a safety blanket, a guard from the world—and from those who want to care for him.Those who want to love him.Namely, Ventus.However, Ventus isn't letting himself be pushed away—not now, not ever.Vanven Week Day 3: Mask
Relationships: Vanitas/Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: Vanven Week 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576738
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	Eyes Always Seeking

**Author's Note:**

> give it up for day 3!!!
> 
> i'm so tender for vanven and this is just self-indulgent really

A quiet hesitance hangs over Ventus as he faces Vanitas, both sitting on his bed and staring in an unspoken stalemate; however, he knows what he needs to do. Slowly, like approaching a wild animal, he reaches out until his fingers carefully frame the metal jaw guard that he has never once seen Vanitas without, and his thumbs press into the glass just the slightest bit. 

“Can I take off your helmet?” His voice is so quiet, so gentle that it can barely be heard, more of a whisper than anything else. 

The ever-present helmet has been hard to get used to as time has passed; even though Ventus has felt their connection get more intimate, there’s still been that barrier between them, shutting Vanitas off from him. He knows it’s Vanitas’s safety blanket, a guard from the world—and from those who want to care for him. 

Those who want to love him. 

Namely, Ventus. 

Ventus hears Vanitas’s breath catch in his throat and watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, obviously thinking deeply about this. However, Ventus isn’t deterred at all because he asked this knowing just how deep this motion would be for Vanitas. Yes, Ventus has already seen Vanitas without his mask once before, but this is a shield frantically put up to deal with the panic over his newfound situation.

“It’s just me,” Ventus soothes, smiling. “No one else is going to see your face here. I promise.”

Vanitas sighs, shaky and afraid, but Ventus keeps smiling, keeps reassuring. While he isn’t going to force Vanitas into this under any circumstances, he thinks that this really is an important step for Vanitas—yet another way to break free from Xehanort’s chains, so long after he died. 

Careful, almost exploratory, Ventus’s hands dip beneath Vanitas’s jawline, finding where the edges of the jaw guard meet Vanitas’s dark suit, every inch of his skin covered by something. He doesn’t ease his fingers under quite yet, instead just letting them rest there, but that still gets a reaction out of Vanitas. He abruptly snatches Ventus’s hands up and holds them inches away from his face, seemingly overwhelmed by the slightest hint of Ventus removing his mask. As they sit there totally still, Ventus expects Vanitas to shove him away, to push him off the bed and demand he leave his room like he does almost every single day—

But instead, with a level of care and timidness completely uncharacteristic for him, Vanitas places Ventus’s hands back where they’d been on his jaw guard. For a few seconds more he holds them, squeezing tighter and tighter, before he releases the pressure. Ventus watches with rapt attention as Vanitas slides his loose grip down until he can loop his hands, so big in comparison, around Ventus’s slight wrists: just feeling, not controlling.

“Is that a yes?”

Vanitas hesitates—nods—hesitates again—then finally confirms, “Yeah. You can.”

In that moment Ventus is bowled over with a wave of emotion so intense that it leaves him reeling, and he’s overcome with the idiotic urge to jump on Vanitas and hold him tight.

Thankfully he’s smart enough to not do that, so he just gives Vanitas yet another tender smile before his hands move again.

This is a bit akin to dealing with an injured animal, Ventus thinks; he’s moving slowly, carefully, thoughtfully, all to avoid Vanitas misinterpreting this as a threat and lashing out like he’s done so many times. After countless scuffles, Ventus knows well enough how to treat Vanitas. Vanitas may hate being treated like broken glass, but sometimes it’s necessary to get the progress he so desperately needs. Ventus is willing to take this as slow as Vanitas wants: seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years.

He smooths his palms across the metal surface and takes a breath before continuing. As if any sudden movements will shatter the glass, he carefully begins to lift the helmet up, dislodging it from its constant position. At first Vanitas seems okay, but Ventus can tell how much he’s holding himself back from overreacting; it’s a different set in Vanitas’s shoulders that tells Ventus more than Vanitas himself will, and he knows it better than anyone else.

“I’ve got you,” Ventus murmurs as he starts to lift it more. Only once Vanitas’s jaw—exactly what was once covered by the jaw guard—is fully exposed does Vanitas react, his grip on Ventus’s wrists tightening once again; Ventus doubts that it’s anything but impulse at this point, so he remains unfazed. 

Although he badly wants to continue, Ventus waits, not moving his hands a single millimeter higher while he waits for Vanitas’s consensus. 

Perhaps any normal person would’ve gotten fed up by now, gotten mad at Vanitas or straight-up left, but Ventus has never been anything close to normal when it comes to Vanitas. That’s why he’s persisted through so much struggle and frustration and resistance—because Vanitas is worth any amount of upset if it means that he can grow to feel whole again, like he’s really always been.

For those repeated tense moments, Ventus simply watches Vanitas, where he knows his eyes hide even if they’re unseen by everyone. It’s unlikely that Vanitas is looking him in the eyes as well, but Ventus just wants Vanitas to know that he’s there and he isn’t leaving.

Not now, not ever. No matter how hard Vanitas pushes.

Just like before, Vanitas’s grip eventually slackens again as he lets out as a visible breath. That’s an obvious concession and Ventus isn’t cruel enough to make Vanitas speak again, so he continues with his task.

It’s slow progress, Vanitas’s face slowly being revealed bit by bit. There’s another pause when Vanitas’s lips are revealed, then the apples of his cheeks and his nose, then the soft skin underneath his eyes. The constant push and pull is a little tiring—metaphorically and literally, as Ventus’s arms get strained from being held up so long—but even muscle aches won’t stop Ventus.

Vanitas has obviously been holding his breath this whole time, and Ventus’s freezes in his throat in tandem once Vanitas’s eyes are revealed, just as vibrant and striking as the few other times he’s had the chance to see them. They’re currently trained downwards, but that’s good at the moment because it means that Ventus can stare at them without the potential awkwardness of prolonged eye contact.

Before he can hesitate more, he pulls the helmet entirely over Vanitas’s head in one smooth movement; thankfully that’s no issue for Vanitas, as his hair isn’t anything special or as exposing as his face, which hides nothing at this moment.

Setting the helmet to the side somewhat carelessly, Ventus then lifts his hands back up to Vanitas’s face, cupping his cheeks and continuing to stare at his eyes, totally enraptured.

Vanitas purses his lips and tightens his grip once again, but not nearly as crushing as before. It gives more of the impression of him just wanting some kind of handhold—a lifeline in this new, tumultuous moment.

Ventus has really never had the chance to actually _look_ at Vanitas beyond a scant few moments fraught with fear and distress, but now he’s going to steal every moment Vanitas will give him (which he knows won’t be many).

Looking at his other half stirs something within Ventus that he’s really not sure what to do with; well, he does know what the emotion means, but it’s something that has to settle behind his bones and wait there until it’s finally time for it to blossom. What little that escapes is only used to hold Vanitas gently, to reassure him and give him touches that will never, ever mean to hurt.

Up this close Ventus can finally notice some things he never had before. Vanitas’s eyelashes are long—almost enough to rival Terra’s—and there seems to be a ghosting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, which Ventus rubs his thumbs across. The spots are so faint, almost barely there, but he knows that given enough sun and bare face, even darker marks will bloom. 

It’s exciting, getting to discover things that his heart knows so intimately but his eyes don’t yet.

It could be seconds or it could be minutes, but Ventus’s eyes eventually reach Vanitas’s lips, chapped and bitten, and that’s when Vanitas finally looks at Ventus again and flatly interjects, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare.”

Ventus snorts and presses his palms flat on Vanitas’s cheeks, squishing his face. “Sorry. Can’t help it.” He pauses, smoothing his thumbs beneath Vanitas’s eyes. “How do you feel?”

Vanitas purses his lips and looks down once again, and Ventus wonders if he even notices how his thumbs are subtly rubbing circles into Ventus’s wrists.

“I…” Vanitas starts, and then he hesitates, obviously chewing at the inside of his cheek; Ventus wants to chide him because his cheeks are already messed up enough, but he says nothing so that he won’t disturb this delicate moment. “It’s… weird,” Vanitas continues, drawing his elbows in closer like he’s trying to recede into himself despite still having a hold on Ventus. “You’re only the second person to see me fully like this.”

“Xehanort?” Ventus whispers instantly, although it’s not really a question—he knows who it is because there’s no one else who would’ve had any chance to see Vanitas without his mask. “Well, it’s just me. I’m not going to…” In his mind’s eye, he can see bruises purpling around Vanitas’s eyes and blood splitting from his chin, but he would let his friends put an end to him before he would ever perpetuate that level of hurt.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Vanitas holds his breath, almost like he’s waiting for something, and Ventus hopes he didn’t make a mistake by mentioning Xehanort by name. Even as time goes by, Xehanort is still a sore topic for everyone involved in the war, and that includes Vanitas most of all; it’ll probably never not hurt him to talk about him, Ventus knows.

They stay still for some moments more, until Ventus is about to ask if Vanitas is okay because he hasn’t breathed for so long, before Vanitas gives a long, shaky exhale and opens his eyes again. “Yeah. I know,” he mumbles, barely perceptible.

“Is this okay? Can I keep touching you?”

More hesitation. Another unsure breath. Then, a nod.

Of course, that makes another soft smile spread on Ventus’s face, and he then allows his thumbs to roam. At first, they go over the apples of Vanitas’s cheeks, then finding the cheekbones and marveling over the angles. One of his thumbs goes to run its way down Vanitas’s nose, and Ventus breathes out the tiniest laugh when his nose scrunches a little in response. ‘ _So cute…_ ’ he thinks to himself, although he doesn’t dare say it because he’s positive Vanitas would find it appalling and offensive.

From his nose, he travels to his brows, smoothing out the wrinkles between them, and then to his eyelids, and then to his lips (which he barely lets himself brush over), and then back to his cheeks. Now that he’s gotten the chance to touch Vanitas in this manner, Ventus thinks he’ll never get his fill, but he takes as much as he can get now.

It’s obvious when Vanitas is done, but he doesn’t show it as viscerally as before; instead, he carefully slides his hands up from Ventus’s wrists to lay his hands over the ones on his cheeks, worrying at his lower lip. It’s a touch so gentle and hesitant that Ventus wonders if Vanitas is in his right mind at all—but he would absolutely understand if Vanitas’s heart was in conflict over this, everything about this situation being in such stark contrast for what he was used to for so much of his waking life.

For a moment it seems as if Vanitas is going to say something, but maybe he thinks better of it because all he does is gently remove Ventus’s hands from his face, placing them down in the space between their laps—and keeping his own over them.

Ventus’s heart soars when Vanitas doesn’t immediately pull away like he’s done so many times to so many lesser touches; Ventus has had the urge to hold Vanitas’s hands for an embarrassingly long time, and while this isn’t really that, it still fulfills some of that ever-present itch that nags at Ventus all the time.

There are words that want to come out of Ventus’s mouth—and they almost do, a truth tumbling forth like waves to shore—but he knows that it’s not yet time for those. His tender heart knows that a harsh heart will take time to accept what it craves.

In its place, he chooses three other words.

“Thank you, Vanitas.”

“...For what?” Vanitas asks, a somewhat befuddled look on his face, and Ventus realizes that Vanitas probably isn’t used to being thanked for things—or any modicum of politeness, really.

“For…” Ventus pauses, thinking about how to best put this into words. “For being open with me.” His first instinct had been to say ‘vulnerable’, but as he had learned some time ago, Vanitas hates any assertion that he’s vulnerable or weak or anything of the sort because that had always, always meant bad things for him.

“Oh.” Vanitas lifts one of his hands to awkwardly scratch at his nose, and Ventus feels a flicker of disappointment for just a moment that’s erased as soon as Vanitas places his hand back down over top of his, seemingly not even cognizant of the action. “You’re… always open with me.”

Smiling gently, Ventus moves his hands until their palms are touching. “Yup. It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to not, when I want you to be open to me.” Gently, he swipes his thumbs over the insides of Vanitas’s wrists, dipping into the gap where he can feel his pulse fluttering like a bird, and his own heartbeat changes to accommodate it. “I like getting to learn about you. Even the parts you hate.”

“Which is most of them,” Vanitas mutters, his hands flexing beneath Ventus’s.

That had been an adjustment for both of them—once Vanitas stopped projecting his hate on Ventus, it all came back to him, and he of course had no idea how to handle it beyond shoving it down. Through horrifying breakdown after breakdown, Ventus did what he could to take some of the burden and teach Vanitas to love himself. 

It’s been a slow process. A _very_ slow process, one nowhere remotely near complete, but Vanitas self-destructs less often now. That’s an improvement. 

“Maybe. But I want to learn about every one of them anyways…” Ventus replies softly as he tries to catch Vanitas’s eye again. “We were apart for so long. Now I want to know _everything_ about my other half.”

That could almost be an understatement with how much information Ventus has wanted to know: Vanitas’s favorite color, his favorite season, how he takes his coffee, what he does to pass his time, his favorite food. And the darker things: what he hated most about Ventus, how he had planned to use him, what he had screamed into the emptiness of the desert, what lurked inside his head. All of it, even though so much of it makes Ventus cry out of guilt and apology. 

“You already know, like, everything about me because of our connection,” he continues, momentarily lifting one hand to tap at his heart before placing it down again, “so I think it’s only fair that I know about you!”

Vanitas chews on his lip, his eyes flicking up to look at Ventus for only a second before turning downwards again. In lieu of words, he simply nods, and Ventus wonders if that means if he can forge on—well, might as well try. 

“Can I ask you a question?” A nod. “Why do you not want to take off your helmet? Even with me when I already know what you look like…”

A look of deep concentration settles on Vanitas’s face, and Ventus can’t help but think about how cute he is with his wrinkled nose and narrowed eyes. Would if he could, he’d kiss the furrow between Vanitas’s brows away, but right now that would be a surefire way to get punched in the stomach. 

“Because it hides me. Then no one can see what I’m thinking or feeling,” Vanitas finally says. With one hand, he reaches out and places his hand on top of the glass of his mask, not doing anything but resting. “That’s important on a battlefield.”

Ventus’s heart drops a little, and that familiar feeling of nausea that comes about when he learns more about Vanitas’s pain overcomes him. Carefully, he lays his hand over the one Vanitas has resting on his helmet and gives him a look. “We’re not on any battlefield anymore,” he murmurs gently, thumb brushing over Vanitas’s hand, “The war is over. It really is.”

“You can’t be sure of that. As long as darkness exists in the worlds, there will be someone who wants to abuse it.”

Ventus can’t really counter that argument; of course he can’t guarantee that there’ll never be a war ever again, but that’s not the point—that’s what Vanitas has to recognize. “And light exists to balance that,” he gently reminds, squeezing Vanitas’s other hand. “ _Our_ fight is over, Vanitas. You get to rest now.”

He may be imagining it, but Ventus swears he sees Vanitas’s lower lip tremble just the slightest bit; as much as Ventus wants to comfort him, he doesn’t say anything for the sake of the dignity Vanitas holds on to so desperately. Ducking his head, Vanitas takes a few slow breaths as he seemingly composes himself, and then he simply shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not asking you to never wear the mask ever again,” Ventus reassures him, “I just think that it’s something for you to consider a little bit at a time. To me, that mask stands for another time—when you weren’t on our side. When you were stuck in a cycle of pain…”

Then, he lifts Vanitas’s hands up to place them on his own cheeks, hands still covering his. Vanitas rapidly looks up when Ventus does that, and his brows furrow for a moment before he untenses. “I’m not anymore,” he whispers, “Never again.”

“Never again,” Ventus repeats, squeezing Vanitas’s hands. “We have all the time in the world to make a change. No need to rush.”

“I might need all the time.” Vanitas’s eyes dart back over to the helmet, and Ventus can tell that he’s resisting just plucking it up and putting it over his head again—pretending this never happened.

Ventus absolutely can’t— _won’t_ —let that happen, so he tightens his grip on Vanitas’s hands and gently nuzzles his cheek into his left hand. “Then take it. I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again—I’m not giving up on you.”

Sighing, Vanitas rolls his eyes and pinches Ventus’s cheeks. It’s honestly breathtaking to get to see these expressions and reactions in real time; Vanitas is actually a lot more emotive than he would’ve expected, but he likes it. He likes it a lot, actually, and he thinks he just might do anything to see the movements of Vanitas’s brows and the twisting of his lips as he thinks. “Yeah, I know,” is the only reply Vanitas offers.

“I know you do,” Ventus says, beaming. “Just reminding you.”

Vanitas purses his lips, seemingly in thought, and Ventus simply watches, totally enraptured. Then, Vanitas adds something else that Ventus really hadn’t expected would come from an overwhelming, intimate interaction such as this.

“Thank you.”

There’s nothing Ventus can offer but a smile, and perhaps he’s just overly hopeful, but for an instant it looks as if the corners of Vanitas’s lips twitch up as well.

Now, Ventus is determined to do whatever it takes to get to see a full-fledged, genuinely happy smile. 

It’s what Vanitas deserves.


End file.
